


Silver Pen

by allonsysilvertongue



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: AU, F/M, Hayffie AU, Writer!Haymitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-09-27 17:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10035365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsysilvertongue/pseuds/allonsysilvertongue
Summary: During a particularly long stretch of writer's block, Haymitch Abernathy discovered a world of his own making. (AU)





	1. The New Neighbour

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all, yes it’s me again. This is a story I came up with last week while I was exceptionally bored, stuck somewhere for hours. There are about ten chapters and I’ve finished writing the first draft of all the chapters.

** Chapter 1: The New Neighbour **

Over the past two years, Haymitch Abernathy had learnt to keep quiet.

Admitting that he was a writer often invited odd looks. Couple that with his now slightly unkempt appearance – wrinkled clothes that needed washing and sometimes, unshaven beard – people tended to assume that he lived alone and was a recluse, which he is. Or if they knew his history, then they assumed he was ridden by guilt and dealing with it by _writing_. That also happened to be partially true.

So he stopped. There was no longer any quiet mumbling under his breath that he was in the middle of writing a book or that yes, he had stopped writing children’s books. He couldn’t muster the innocence needed to write for that target audience.

It had gotten tiresome to deal with the sympathetic look on people’s face when he gruffly admitted that he was dry of inspiration. Not telling people about his writing seemed to be the easiest solution. In any case, he did not feel entitled to the term any longer.

 _Writer,_ he scoffed.

He had not managed to write anything for the past two years. It didn’t mean he didn’t try. He tried, and sometimes he tried too hard even though he knew nothing good would come out from him trying to force himself to it. The things he came up with felt juvenile, forced and inauthentic. His work did not feel genuine to him and if it didn’t feel like it came from him, his readers would know that too. Readers could always tell.

There were scribbles of mindless plot that led to nowhere. He supposed he could expand on it but he couldn’t find the will to do so.

There were also half-thought out characters that were never fully developed. But the characters that he had developed and fleshed out well, he was rather fond of, not that he would ever admit that to anyone. It was easier to him to write characters lately. He felt a strange bond to them which at times, he thought was a troubled sign. He should get out more and socialise.

There were also names in fictional places that his mind conjured up that despite his best efforts, he could not fit into anything at the moment. He was sure that one day, it would all make sense to him – the plot, the characters, their moral dilemma – but today was not that day.

Hauling himself to his feet from the sunken armchair, Haymitch kicked the bottle on the floor that was blocking his path. It rolled under the sofa. He would need to restock which meant that he would have to do the tedious task of going into the town centre.

Haymitch peered out of the window to check if the weather was good. The snow had begun to melt and for a brief second, he thought twice about stepping out of the house.

Then something twinkled out of the top corner of his window.

It was the glint from the sunlight hitting the metal plate of a truck that was currently driving down the small road towards the Village.

Haymitch watched.

He could count on one hand the number of times visitors actually wandered into the Village in a year. To him, _this_ was definitely something to be curious about, so much so that he actually stepped out of his house to stand by the porch.

The truck came to a stop in front of one of the houses – the one right next to his to be specific. The frown on his face deepened.

He had not had a neighbour for nearly two decades and he was not sure he welcomed the change.

A young man with a head full of blond hair stepped out of the truck. He caught sight of Haymitch and raised his hand in greeting with a smile on his face. He had kind blue eyes and Haymitch gave a curt nod in response. On the passenger side, the door swung open. This time, a black-haired female jumped down. She threw a wary glance in Haymitch's direction but unlike her companion, she did not deem it necessary to greet him.

Not wanting to seem intrusive or too curious, Haymitch went back inside and chose a seat by the window. He couldn't take his eyes off the girl's braid and the gold accessory that was pinned to the tail of her braid. From this distance, he couldn't really tell what it was but he thought it resembled a bird.

They stood in front of the house which Haymitch now assumed to be theirs. The young man slipped his hand into the girl's and with an encouraging smile, led her up the steps of the porch.

No one had moved into the Village for years. He was the sole occupant and frankly, he wasn't sure what would make a young couple choose this place in particular.

He decided, as he relocated to the kitchen scrounging for leftover liquor from bottles in the cupboard, that if they stayed out of his way then he would keep out of theirs.

For days following that, Haymitch heard the couple moving things from the truck and into their new house. He heard footsteps, the door opening and closing, things crashing onto the floor when someone dropped a box, and the rise and fall of inaudible voices talking to each other. On the third day, he smelt the sweet fragrance of freshly baked bread wafting in next door and that continued every morning.

The signs of life were too difficult to ignore.

Despite that, they did not bother him. They had not knocked on his door to introduce themselves, probably still busy unpacking and adjusting, and that suited him just fine.

Except for one small problem. Ever since he saw them, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was bothering him.

There was something oddly familiar about those two that he couldn’t quite figure out. The braid and the pin… He kept seeing it. It was like a splinter on his finger. He was aware that it was there but despite trying, was unable to pull it out to ease himself.

Without a thought, Haymitch wandered closer to his door. Nowadays, he was beginning to feel like a creeper. He had been watching them on and off to a point that he knew the boy had left in the morning, presumably to head to town.

He was walking home now, Haymitch noted.

He spied the canvas tucked under the young man’s arm and the paint brushes poking out of the paper bag. Haymitch blinked, feeling ill at ease.

_He paints._

And, he knew it was the boy who did all the baking. Haymitch had seen him rushing out of the house with his hands covered in flour that one time when he had heard a yelp from the woman.

_He bakes, too._

Haymitch knew him. He knew with every fibre of his being that he knew this young man.

Of course, that was impossible since he had never seen him or the girl in his life before. Tired of speculating and thinking about his new neighbour, Haymitch grabbed a bottle from his recently stocked cupboard and drank until the moon greeted the sun, and until he passed out.

When he woke up the next morning, it was to a pounding headache and a parched mouth. Haymitch staggered towards the kitchen, drinking straight from the tap.

His kitchen window overlooked his backyard and into the edge of the woods. From there, he could also see a portion of his neighbour’s backyard.

The girl came into view. She was wearing a leather jacket which even in his headache and blurred eyesight, he somehow knew that the jacket was old and brown and too big for her frame. He was startled by his own thoughts.

Haymitch splashed his face with a handful of cold water to wake himself up but the girl was still there and the jacket was definitely old; old enough to have belonged to someone else and passed down to her, judging from the looks of it.

It was when she picked up an item from her feet and slung it over her shoulder that Haymitch reeled back.

It was a bow.

_She hunts and wears her hair in braid with a gold pin._

“A mockingjay,” he breathed out in realisation. Haymitch ran a shaking hand through his hair. “No. No, this is impossible.”

Having found his boots, he jammed them on and slammed his front door open. His footsteps were heavy as it thudded against the pathway to the house next door.

He met the boy halfway and surprised, they both stopped short.

“Oh, hello, I was just about to go over.”

Haymitch stared at him and at the bread wrapped with a piece of cloth that he was holding.

“I would have come sooner but we were quite swamped with all the unpacking,” he laughed lightly. “I’m your neighbour.”

As if that needed explaining, Haymitch thought.

“Yeah, saw you moved in a week ago or something,” Haymitch grunted. “Who’s the girl?”

“My fiancé,” he answered, the pride clearly displayed on his face. “I made some extra bread and thought that this was a good time as any to come over and introduce myself.”

Haymitch silently took the bread he offered.

"I'm Peeta," he extended his hand. “Peeta Mellark.”

The name made Haymitch freeze. He felt his stomach churning.

“I’m sure you have seen Katniss around,” Peeta went on even if he found Haymitch’s reaction slightly odd. “She’s gone to hunt but once she comes back I’ll tell her to drop by and say hello.”

"Katniss," Haymitch rolled the name on his tongue. "Katniss Everdeen..."

That seemed to throw Peeta off. "Do you ... Do you know Katniss?"

_Do I know, Katniss?_

He wanted to laugh except he was in too much shock.

“Did you break into my study?” Haymitch demanded.

“What?” Peeta sputtered, not at all expecting to be accused of breaking and entering.

“Your names… Were you given them from birth or did you… Did you both have it changed recently? Did you steal the names from me?”

“I don’t – I’m not sure I understand you,” Peeta shook his head.

Without ever telling the boy his name, Haymitch turned around and marched back to his house. He slammed the door and locked it, and took the stairs two at a time.

For the first time in a long while, Haymitch turned the knob into his study. The simple act of opening the door and his footsteps against the floorboard unsettled the dust which floated in the air.

He went straight for his desk and rummaged through stacks of papers, sweeping others onto the floor and knocking old ink bottles over until he finally found what he was looking for. The papers were wedged under his typewriter.

His eyes scanned through the words and then his breath caught.

 _Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark_.

There it was written in ink.

He knew why they were familiar.

They were _his_ characters.

He wrote them. He created them and somehow.... they were both alive and living next door.

 


	2. His Brother's Keeper

** Chapter 2: His Brother's Keeper **

He thought, illogical as it was that if he just remained in his study for a while, the world outside would right itself. His characters existing in the same world and breathing in the same air as him was _not_ right.

Or at least, he could stay here until all traces of alcohol had left his body and only when he was stone cold sober would he leave this room. Katniss and Peeta could just be his drunken delusions.

But his gaze strayed to the bread that in his rush had been mindlessly discarded on a stool near the door. That exchanged had been real. He had talked to Peeta and the boy had given him the bread.

Haymitch slapped himself to ensure that he was awake. He wouldn't put it passed him to dream the whole scenario out. His dreams were often vivid, as was his imagination.

That could be it – a product of his overactive imagination.

The knocking on the door told him otherwise. Instead of going down, Haymitch pushed open the window and peered down. Peeta glanced up and shaded his eyes from the sun's glare.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "You left in such a hurry."

"Have you met anyone other than me?"

The question gave Peeta paused but he did not comment on the oddity of it.

"Yeah, sure," he nodded. "I've met a few people. Been to the restaurant that's owned by Sae. I met her granddaughter, too. Um, I also met Ripper... Bought some alcohol from her for my paint."

Haymitch released a shaky breath.

He had known Sae and Ripper all his life and they were definitely not a product of his imagination. Not when Sae had looked after him and Lief when his mother needed a babysitter. This also meant that they could _see_ the boy, leading him to come to the horrifying conclusion that Peeta and Katniss were definitely not a trick of his mind.

_So what are they?_

He curled his fingers, his nails digging against the surface edge of the window panel.

"I was actually going to invite you over for dinner, Mr. Abernathy," Peeta continued. "Sae told me who you are when I told her where I'm staying. I think we will be seeing a lot of each other now."

 _For fuck's sake,_ he rubbed his temple, _he wants to play neighbour._

"I'll let you know," Haymitch muttered and pulled his window shut.

The two days following that, he spent it sequestered in his study reading materials he had written previously. There were individual notes on their characters, some scribbled on yellow post-its describing their attitudes and physical descriptions. It was haphazard and messy but he was often that way when an inspiration struck. He missed it; the buzz of having something new, the many different ideas fighting to be heard and the hurried scrawl on any writing materials before he lost all of his exciting thoughts.

It struck him as his finger trailed the words describing Peeta’s past that if his characters truly were alive, then he already knew their history. He already knew of Katniss’ tragedy with her sister and losing a mother who couldn’t look at her without being reminded of the family’s shared lost.

He wrote Peeta as being the youngest boy in his family who was often overlooked and pushed aside by his older siblings, and punished constantly by an overbearing mother. By virtue of that, he was often kind and gentle to others simply because he did not want to do unto others what he faced at home. He knew of Peeta’s family who eventually perished in a fire which to this date, he still blamed himself over.

The second page contained several paragraphs which he had struck savagely with a black pen – the beginning of a story that he disliked. Below it, in bulleted format was a skeleton of a plot he meant to write but lost the drive to do so.

In his story, Peeta and Katniss had not even met but he knew that they would eventually under unfortunate circumstances. He had not figured out what those circumstances would be but with certainty, he could promise that at the end of the story, as cliché as it sounded, they would be each other’s road to recovery.

Theirs was a story of two star crossed lovers in a volatile world.

 _They’re here. Ask them,_ a voice suggested.

That drove him to accept their dinner invitation eventually and the fact that the girl did drop by a few days after her fiancé to give him some cheese tarts. They had exchanged very little small talk but her presence made him curious.

He needed to know more than anything else if they were exactly as he had written them to be.

“So… why here?” Haymitch asked as he accepted the bowl of butter corn from Peeta. “Nothin’ much to see ‘round here.”

“That’s why we chose this place. We were looking for someplace quiet. We need it.”

At that, Katniss shot her fiancé a look of warning.

 _Distrustful_ , he noted.

He had written her as such. A girl hardened by her circumstances since the loss of her father, generally distrustful of people except for the few she deemed worthy and stubborn to a fault.

“Odd for two young people such as yourself,” Haymitch commented. “Any of your family livin’ in the next town…. Somewhere close?”

He was fishing for information to confirm their backstory.

“I – I don’t have a family,” Peeta answered.

Peeta looked Katniss’ way but she resolutely kept her mouth shut, not volunteering further information about her life to the old next door neighbour.

“My family used to own a bakery, not far from here actually. That’s no more now,” the boy went on.

The bakery had gone up in flames and devoured his family with it. Peeta had burnt the bread that very afternoon had been banished to the pig sty to feed the pigs and clean the area as punishment. It also saved him from a certain death.

Haymitch listened without interrupting, amazed by the fact that Peeta’s story was exactly as it had been written even if to sit here and hear it for himself made him feel immensely sorry for the boy _and_ the girl. He was not blind to the fact that there were primroses growing in their garden and he knew that those were tribute to her sister. After all, _he_ had been the one to name Katniss’ sister after the flower.

“I’ve been thinking of setting up my own bakery here,” Peeta said and looked at him eagerly for his opinion. “What do you think?”

The fork hovered just inches away from Haymitch’s mouth. That question threw him off.

 _They are writing their own future._ He had not written this part of Peeta – the desire and ambition to continue his family’s business.

“You’d be doing the town a service with your bakery,” Haymitch said. “Your stuffs are good.”

“They’re more than just good,” Katniss scowled, as if _she_ personally took offend that Haymitch’s opinion of Peeta’s baking abilities were not up to her standards.

“I had practice since young,” Peeta replied humbly, “just as Katniss was taught to hunt since she was young. She gave you the squirrel she shot, didn’t she? Clean shot between the eyes.”

His gaze flitted from Katniss to Peeta, watching this exchange with amusement.

“Katniss, I was thinking,” Peeta said, “that maybe we can invite Finnick and his family for dinner next time. Haymitch can meet them, too.”

The fork clattered noisily against the plate, startling Peeta. Haymitch grabbed his glass and washed down the stew that was stuck to his throat.

“What did you say?” Haymitch demanded. He probably looked and sounded crazy.

“Uh,” Peeta glanced at Katniss.

“He said he wanted to invite Finnick and his family – Annie and his son. They moved to this town a week or two before we did. Good people,” Katniss answered. “Don’t think you’ve ever met them ‘cause they’ve never met you.”

 _Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta_.

This was impossible. First Katniss and Peeta, and now….

He felt something sharp twisting in his chest; the familiar feeling of guilt and despair.

He had written Finnick during one of his loneliest night when he had missed his brother too much. He didn’t know how to deal with that pang of loneliness so he had tried to picture Lief growing up as a teenager and then as an adult. He had tried to picture his brother alive and Finnick Odair was born.

It was his way of keeping Lief’s spirits alive through that character.

Haymitch had written Annie Cresta as a friend and companion to Finnick Odair. He imagined that his brother would have loved to have a lady friend.

Now, to hear that both Finnick and Annie were in this town and with a son to boot felt a like a knife twisting in his gut.

He had never written them as having a son but from what he had learnt about Peeta, he shouldn’t be surprised anymore.

His characters were alive _and_ writing their own future. It made him wonder if _he_ could still change the course of their lives with his words.

But that, he thought, was not as pressing as wanting to meet Finnick and his family.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for you reviews and your interest in this story! I really appreciate it.
> 
> I know you're all by now very curious about Effie, so I will leave you to speculate about her just a little bit more while I introduced the Odairs in this chap. Let me know what you think!
> 
> (also, i will likely be publishing two chaps/week but if I'm a little busy, then the usual once a week routine!)


	3. Her Maker

** Chapter 3: Her Maker **

The book was old; the pages were yellow and its spine was cracked. It once belonged to Lachlan Abernathy who spent his night quietly reading poetry from the book to his young son.

Haymitch’s father was a man of a few words but at night, when the world became quiet, his voice rose among the hoots of the owl outside and in those prose, was the most words Lachlan ever spoke.

It had been a while since Haymitch had read anything from it but he kept it safe and between the pages of the book was an equally old photograph.

He brushed his thumb across it, staring at the picture of his brother.

Where Lief had dirty blond hair just like him, Finnick had bronze hair, and if Lief’s eyes were pale grey, then Finnick’s sea-green eyes stood out in the dark. Memories of his brother might have driven him to create and write Finnick but Haymitch painstakingly made sure that they were different. He wanted to be able to set them apart, to not confuse his brother, real as he was, with a character he produced.

Now, he might just know if that worked.

When Peeta came to greet him, he was on the sofa, gazing down at the bottom of a bottle. The boy knocked quietly on the door panel to catch his attention.

“Didn’t forget, did you?”

Haymitch rose to his feet and grabbed his black woollen jacket from the back of a chair. Katniss was waiting outside for them. At the sight of him, she jumped down from the bannister where she had perched herself and started walking.

Peeta fell in step next to her while Haymitch lingered back, keeping a slower pace.

He caught drifts of their conversations – discussion of suitable places to set up Peeta’s bakery and the ideal size they were looking for.

“Surgar cube?”

His steps faltered. His gaze fell on the hand offering him the treat and then up to the owner.

“Or might I interest you in some oysters?”

The wolfish grin was the giveaway. He was staring at Finnick Odair; sun-kissed skin, soft curls of bronze hair and twinkling eyes.

Haymitch had written him as a handsome young man since he often believe his brother had the looks in the family, but he had never tried to picture Finnick as a person. The feeling was somewhat akin to reading and knowing a character from a book and then learning the actor that was cast as the character for a film. It felt strange to him.

“Pearls for your lady, maybe?” Finnick winked.

Haymitch stepped closer. Finnick had set up a small stall at the first corner of in the town market. There were oysters on ice and stools for customers to sit.

“Never seen you before,” Haymitch muttered. “You new?”

“That will depend on what you consider as ‘new’,” he teased. “I’ve been selling fresh seafood for the past three months.”

“Not what Katniss said,” Haymitch told him. “Was told you just moved here a week before her.”

“Yes, that’s true. I like it here and so does Annie – that’s her over there,” he pointed to a young woman with a warm smile and gentle demeanour. “I still have a beach house two towns over. It’s hard to make a business where I’m from when everyone can just row out to the sea to get seafood themselves so three months ago I came to this town to sell my catch. It’s a hassle to travel back and forth. It wasn’t a difficult decision to make. This is a nice town, anyway.”

The timing was too much of a coincidence. His characters could not just pop up one after another at _this_ particular moment. He had been writing for years so why _now_?

“This is _the_ Haymitch Abernathy, yes?” Finnick turned his attention to Katniss standing behind Haymitch.

Katniss nodded. “My neighbour.”

“Word has it that you keep to yourself,” Finnick teased. “I also heard that you’re a writer. We must have read all the short children stories you published. Any new stories for my boy? I think he likes pirates.”

His brother loved pirates. Haymitch tried not to think too much about it.

Instead, he thought of the poetries and stories his father told him as a child and like always, he wanted to hold them close to his heart. That was _their_ moment. It was hypocritical for a writer because stories were meant to be shared but somehow, he could never share the stories his father shared with him with anyone else. One day, he might share it with this boy but not today.

“Are you writing anything new? I would love to read those stories,” Annie spoke quietly for the first time since they met.

That struck him. There were notes and half-written stories on them – _all ­_ of them with the exception of the baby – at his house.

Just the thought of them stumbling on it made his blood ran cold. His conversation with them proved that they had no self-awareness that they were his character and that he was their… maker.

“I have to go,” Haymitch announced suddenly.

“What’s the hurry? You should try my oysters, they’re – “

Finnick’s words were drowned by the rushing of blood in his ears. He had to get home. He had to make sure.

The distance from town to his house seemed unusually long and he was only slightly comforted when he heard the honking of the geese. Haymitch tore through his study once he got home, clutching papers in his hands as his eyes scanned the contents.

He was searching for a name. _His_ name.

Because what if he was not who he thought he was? How else was he existing in the same plane as his own characters and –

Haymitch stopped short.

He sounded insane.

_You’re fucking real. You’re not some… Some work of fiction._

Sitting and leaning against the wall, Haymitch stretched his legs out. He let out a quivering breath and counted to ten as he retrieved his flask from his jacket. With shaking hands, he took a sip and in a much more collected manner, he read his works again.

His name was not in any of it.

"How is this happening?" he mumbled to himself, searching for an answer he didn’t have.

If there was one thing he hated, it was not knowing. There was a multitude of questions swirling in his mind, an entire mystery that needed solving with nowhere to turn for answers… or solutions because obviously this could not go on.

How was he expected to live next door to two kids whose stories he had written? What was he supposed to make of his characters procreating when he had not written that in for them?

That thought gave him pause. His hand trembled and he felt the familiar rush of adrenaline at the spurt of inspiration.

Katniss, Peeta, Finnick and Annie…. They were all characters he had written. What about characters he had yet to write?

His study was a mess. Papers were strewn everywhere in his mad rush earlier so he simply just swept everything off the table.

For the first time in a long time, he planted himself on the chair and pulled his typewriter closer. His fingers hovered over the keys, searching for the right words.

Then his gaze fell on an old magazine subscription and on the blonde-haired model standing in front of a house that graced the front page. Slowly, an idea began to take shape.

For years now, he had to force every bit of creativity but seeing his four characters coupled with an overwhelming desire to know had brought the spark back.

He began typing.

Haymitch started as he always did when creating a new character – he began with their physical description. Then he gave them a base personality before slowly crafting a back story to suit. He gave his character a hidden trauma, a childhood fear, some regrets with hopes and dreams. He gave the new character motivations as a drive, good traits and bad traits and skills.

There was no future to the character yet but that was not a pressing concern for him at the moment.

Haymitch wrote until the sky turned orange and stars twinkled.

He really should start writing that novel. After all, what was the point of having all these characters to play with if there was no story?

When he was done, he leaned back in his seat and wriggled his fingers to relieve the ache. There it was - another character to fit into his fictional world… and possibly _this_ world. That was the theory he wanted to test.

There was just one final touch to this - a name for his character. Then all he had to do was wait to see if this character too would jump out of the pages and into the real world.

It was only when morning dawned and after he roused from his unintentional nap on the sofa that he wandered back to his desk and typed in the only missing information.

Her name.

_Euphemia Trinket._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go - Effie Trinket! What do you think? Will she appear and if so, how is she going to appear? Tell me all your thoughts.


	4. Be, and it is!

**Chapter 4: Be, and it is!**

As it turned out, there was nothing magical about it.

There were no forms taking shape once he typed in the last 't' in Trinket, no woman materialising in the space in front of him. Since he was not expecting something out-worldly like that, there was no disappointment to be had.

Still, he expected _something_.

Haymitch resigned himself to wait and he waited for _days_.

He supposed if Euphemia Trinket were to make an appearance, it would be the way Katniss and Peeta did, out of the blue and without much fuss.

He began to look for signs of new neighbours or anyone who moved into this town for that matter. There was more time spent outside his house feeding his geese, fixing their pen and on one afternoon, he even resorted to weeding out his garden.

Haymitch wandered out of the village on random mornings and nights peeling his eyes out for anything unusual. He even made frequent trips to the town market to pick up on any talks or gossips of someone new.

This went on for a week or so that even Katniss, as obtuse as she could be, started to notice. When asked, he waved her off.

As he slouched on the sofa, on a dreary afternoon, watching Katniss and Peeta sitting cross-legged in front of his coffee table writing recipes for Peeta's book, it jolted him the fact that these two kids were spending more and more of their time with him. They treated his home like theirs and he was, likewise, welcomed to theirs at any time.

He wasn't sure when or how this familiarity began but it scare him. He knew they were not real and it terrified him even more if they found out the truth about themselves.

 _They're real_ , a small voice argued.

They were right there in front of him. He could have a conversation with them and touch them. He could argue with Katniss. He had carried little Finn in his arms and he had eaten the oysters that Annie had given him, only to spent the next few hours in the bathroom with an upset stomach.

Reality is often what an individual _perceived_ it to be and this could be _his._ It could be, he thought. He had been alone long enough. He deserved to have _this_ even if they used to be just his characters but they were so much more now. He was slowly, and without realising it, letting them become a fabric in his life.

Maybe, to a reasonable sane man, he was losing his mind but he felt ... better than he had in a long while.

It made his head ache just thinking about it so he forced himself not to dwell too much on it. He was good at that – forcing issues to the back of his mind with a drink in hand.

It seemed to work well, too. For the next three days, not once had the thought of Katniss and Peeta as being _not_ real entered his mind.

XxX

Haymitch glanced up at the sound of footsteps approaching. He picked the last of the egg from the pen and stood up just as Katniss stood in front of him with three squirrels in her hand. She tossed one to him.

"How's your hand? Steady enough to skin?"

He glared at her.

The town was running late on their shipment of liquor and he had been staving off the shakes by distilling his own potatoes, which was not going fast enough so there were days without alcohol. Peeta thought it was a good time to cut down but he shrugged the boy off.

"Can't you get your boy to help?"

Katniss clearly did not like Peeta being referred to that way because she shot him a look. Haymitch chuckled. It was easy to tease Katniss sometimes.

"He's really serious 'bout the bakery, huh?" Haymitch asked after Katniss informed him that Peeta was at the kitchen coming up with a menu.

"He is," she nodded. "He's in talks about leasing the space at the town market across from Finnick. He tells me that Miss Trinket will be coming down in two days to go over the contract."

His knife ripped through the squirrel and blood spattered on Katniss' arm. She clicked her tongue in annoyance as she inspected the skewered meat.

"Seriously, Haymitch," she frowned. "I was going to sell that one."

"Who?"

"How would I know who's going to buy it till I go down," Katniss muttered. "Probably someone down at the Hob."

"You said someone's coming… About Peeta's bakery."

"Miss Trinket?" Katniss looked at him. "She's the property agent. She was the one who got us the house so Peeta went back to her about leasing a space."

"Yeah, Trinket… What's her name? She must have a name… or a business card. You have her card, kid?"

His questions made her stop whatever it was she was doing with the squirrel to focus her attention on him.

"Why are you so interested?" she asked. "Are you planning on selling your house? Where will you go?"

"Don't answer my question with questions of your own," Haymitch grumbled. "Tell me her name."

"She calls herself Effie Trinket. To be honest, I didn't really trust her when I first met her. She's a bit… She's not like you and me, but she's okay, I guess. Peeta invited her for dinner a couple of times before we moved in and out of all things, she commented about our good table manners."

 _Manners_ …. Haymitch wanted to laugh. He had written a line about her having immaculate manners and it seemed, that single description had manifested itself well into her being.

That thought came to a screeching halt as another bigger, more important thought burst through the forefront of his mind.

She existed.

"Effie…" _Effie… Euphemia._

He wrote her and now she was somewhere out there in the world….

_And she's coming._

The 'Miss Trinket' Katniss was talking about had to be her. It was no coincidence. Except… While he did write her as being interested in architecture, after the blonde woman standing in front of a building, being a property agent seemed to be going a bit off the tracks.

_What about modelling?_

These questions only made him more excited and eager, because while he might have given his character a background to exist upon, the way they were spinning and crafting their own tales made him curious.

XxX

Two days seemed to stretch, and for once in his life, he began to pay careful attention to the setting of the moon and rising of the sun.

It made him restless having to wait for her arrival so he went back to his study in an attempt to work on his novel. He was staring at the piece of paper and it had been hours now but so far, there was only one paragraph.

Haymitch flipped through a folder. In a novel that was published years ago, he had written about the Dark Days in the fictional world of Panem. It told the story of a band of ragtag rebels who believed wholeheartedly in their cause set during a time of a massive plague. It was a story his father once weaved during bedtime, one that incurred his mother's wrath because it was too dark a tale for children.

But he had loved it, and _that_ had garnered his interest in the art of storytelling.

There were so many ways his father's story could go so during his teenage years and well into his adult years, he began to write the story his father never managed to finish.

Haymitch's story ended with the collapse of the first rebellion.

Ironically, it was also his collapse.

He lost his family in an explosion from the mine and the fire had spread to their home. Peeta's story about losing his family was _his_ story. Peeta's guilt about not being able to save his family was Haymitch's guilt. He had tried to separate his life from his characters but there were some things that bled from his subconscious into paper.

The loss of his family marked the loss of his inspiration, too. He had tried to get back on his feet in between sober moments by writing stand-alone pieces of heroes from the first rebellion. They had hit the shelves but it was a pitiful attempt and was never as good as the novel itself.

The sequel had been in plans for a few years now. Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark were meant to be in it but until now, he still could not quite get the plot to crystallise.

Everything he needed was in his head; pieces of scenarios here and there. All he needed to do was to write them out.

With a frustrated sigh, Haymitch tore the paper away from the typewriter. Crumpling it in his hand, he tossed it behind him and out of the window.

"How lazy of him to just throw his trash out of the window!" a high pitch voice commented. "There should be a rule about littering."

"It's his own yard," Peeta chuckled. "He can do as he pleased and that includes throwing things all over."

"It is unpleasant to the eyes," the woman's voice rose once more. "I am not sure that I will like him. In fact, I am rather wary of seeing the inside of his house."

Katniss' amused laughter reached him at his study and just seconds later, there was a knock on his door.

Without seeing her, Haymitch deduced that the foreign voice must belong to Euphemia Trinket. Of course, he was not expecting her to make a house visit and he had no idea why the kids were bringing her over.

When he finally made his way downstairs to the front door, the sight of her rooted him to the spot.

He was staring and she was growing ill at ease by it.

"It is rude to stare."

She was beautiful.

When he had written her, he had pictured Marilyn Monroe in his mind's eyes. She was the first person to pop in his head so he had based Effie Trinket on that but Haymitch had also included details that would make Effie _Effie._ He had written her with freckles which was not present because of her make-up and with a scar from her childhood.

She was taller than he had imagined but that, he supposed, was due to the heels she was wearing.

"I've been told I'm rude and I ain't making an exception for you, sweetheart."

The pleasant smile on her face faltered.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is taken from an Arabic phrase – kun (be) faya kun (and it is).
> 
> There is a little more backstory here for Haymitch and hayffie finally meeting - so share your thoughts by leaving a review :)


	5. Career Goals

** Chapter 5: Career Goals **

“Haymitch, be nice,” Peeta warned. “This is Miss Trinket.”

“Effie,” she said, extending her hand to him with a smile so charming it must be hurting her cheeks to hold it in place. “Everybody address me as such.”

‘Effie’ was not something _he_ had decided for her but Haymitch took it in stride. Characters were supposed to develop and seeing it before his eyes was an experience in itself.

“Sure, _sweetheart_ ,” he grasped her hand with a smirk of his own. “How’d you know these two notorious kids?”

“Oh, nonsense, they are lovely,” Effie exclaimed. “They are easily one of my easiest clients to date.”

“Huh,” he frowned, scratching the side of his cheek lightly as he mulled that information over.

It made little sense to him. The timeline did not add up since her character was only written about two weeks ago whereas Peeta and Katniss had moved in for about three months or so, which meant before that, she had not even existed in his work – in his subconscious mind perhaps, because her family did exist during the Dark Days –

The entire situation was becoming a tangled mess especially give the whole _“my characters are alive”_ was impossible in the first place. Not for the first time, he considered talking to a therapist but he was _not_ crazy. He was not. He was absolutely certain that he was not.

He knew his name, his age, where he lived. He could tell the date and the day. All in all, he was of the opinion that he was in perfect control of his mental faculties. Just because an insane, unexplainable situation was happening _to_ him, it did not make him crazy.

“Do you happen to know Finnick and Annie?” Haymitch asked out of the blue, if only because he needed some sort of confirmation that all his characters were connected to each other.

“Certainly,” Effie nodded with enthusiasm. “Who did you think close the deal for – “

"Their seafood place,” he finished her sentence. “That was you.”

“Yes,” Effie smiled and turned to look at Peeta. “I am doing the same for Peeta. Soon, he will have a space for his own bakery. Isn’t that marvellous? It is making me rather fond of this town.”

“Lots of houses here... If you like this town so much then get yourself a property and stay,” Haymitch said in a matter of fact tone and at the surprised look both Katniss and Peeta tossed his way, he shrugged. “Seems logical.”

Effie laughed lightly at that. “You make it sound so very easy. I do like the view,” she let her gaze wandered over to him. “I would love it dearly to see this town grow and flourish, and know that I am a part of it. How tempting…”

“Right,” he said curtly and rubbed the back of his neck.

He could not quite explain the way he suddenly felt self-conscious standing in front of her unshaven with his shirt crumpled with stained from his spilled whiskey. Hell, he probably event smell from having not changed his clothes since yesterday. He _almost_ felt sorry for Effie Trinket. Meeting your maker shouldn’t be such a disappointment but since she didn’t know it, then it didn’t make a difference.

His gaze shifted to Katniss, fidgeting restlessly. The conversation held little interest to her but he took great pleasure in watching the girl shuffle from one foot to another impatiently, even if she kept throwing him pleading looks. He was not going to help her get out of the situation, not when she spent her time telling him how much he had disfigured her squirrel two days earlier.

"Haymitch is right," Peeta piped in with much enthusiasm. "You told us on your way over that these ten houses here are now under Capitol Homes."

"What's Capitol Homes?" Haymitch frowned.

“The real estate company I work for,” Effie answered. "Recently, they purchased the land here which means all these houses, including yours, belong to them. Did you not get the letter informing you of the same?"

Her question went unanswered.

The Capitol was a place he remembered creating; a magnificent city by any standard. This current twist to the narrative however, was making him feel slightly ill. Since when was the Capitol a real estate company?

There had to be a sound explanation for this but currently, the one he had made little sense to him.

"I have been assigned to ensure that the other ten unoccupied houses in this Village will have tenants or buyers by the end of the year. So.... Since this area is under _my_ care, I supposed you will be seeing plenty of me," she flashed a smile and tossed her hair over her shoulder, exposing the side of her neck to him.

“What’s that – your career goals?” he queries, forcing himself back to the conversation at hand.

The best course of action right now was to find out as much information from his characters as possible before he jumped into any conclusions. The fact that Effie Trinket was writing her own narrative, in a manner of speaking, was something he was curious about. Real estate was certainly not what he had in mind for her. He had pictured something more glamourous, something that would give her fame. Then again, in his excitement, he had only really ever written her attitude, her personality and her physical description, nothing more than that.

"We all need goals in our lives and I intend to achieve mine," she declared. "This Village will be occupied and it will prosper."

His face morphed into one of disgust and displeasure.

"I liked it better when I'm the only one around," he scowled. "Now you come here and you want more people to move in? Come on, sweetheart. Help me out here, Katniss."

"You should take it up to the Capitol," she muttered. "Wouldn't suggest it, though. They might throw you out of your home and get someone else to move in."

"Katniss, dear, do not frighten him so," Effie chided. "No such thing will happen, Mr. Abernathy! The land's title deed merely changed hands but I assure you that your lease on the house still holds. No revision to the terms will take place. Nothing will change except... there will be more people. It might even be good for you."

"You don't know me enough to know what's good for me," he retorted.

"Well, then, I hope we will have plenty of opportunities to get acquainted."

It was a challenge if the sparkle in her eyes and the way she tilted her head at him was any indication; a challenge to the town's recluse.

 


	6. A Thorn In His Side

** Chapter 6: A Thorn in His Side **

His surprise came when he sauntered into his neighbour's kitchen, as he was prone to do at times, to see Effie sitting on the table munching delicately on a cheese tart.

"Good morning, Haymitch," she greeted in a sing-song voice. "Are you joining?"

Grunting an answer, Haymitch pulled up a chair and poured himself coffee from the pot. Effie slid a plate of croissants in his direction. There was very little conversation at the breakfast table but Haymitch spent his time casting furtive glances her way, studying the way her fingers curled around her cup of tea and the way her entire body seemed to relax as she hummed quietly under the breath.

"Are you going to spend your time here staring at me or will you be making some conversation at some point? I do enjoy a good conversation."

Embarrassed at getting caught, he asked, "Where are Katniss and Peeta?"

"They left," she said simply. "They did tell me to expect you. Is it safe to assume that you are a recurring guest in their house?"

Katniss, he presumed had gone to the woods and Peeta must be at the town square selling his pastries from a basket. He was getting the town's people acquainted with his goods before the bakery was set up and personally, Haymitch thought that was a wise move to establish a customer base.

"Mostly here for the food," he mumbled. "What are you still doing here?"

She blinked, as if surprise, and tilted her head in contemplation.

"I – "

In the split second, he thought she seemed lost without a purpose. The blue of her eyes were unfocused and Effie looked the same way as Greasy Sae's granddaughter when she came up to him and forgot what she wanted to ask of him in the first place. He peered at her curiously, wondering for a moment if the fact that he had not written anything further from her was what was causing this.

"Oh, yes of course," she straightened in excitement at the sudden thought that just occurred. "I had a thought after I left your house yesterday. I believe there is some merit to your suggestion."

"I didn't suggest anything."

"Oh, Haymitch," she touched his arm with a warm smile. "No need to be so modest. I've spoken to my manager and we both agreed that it will be better for me to remain here. That way there is no need for me to make frequent trips back and forth from the city each time a client wishes to view a house in the village. In the meantime, I will take up residence in one of the houses."

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely! Isn't it delightful?" she clapped her hands together in excitement. "Now, why don't you take me out for a walk and show me around?"

XxX

Curiously enough, she must have decided that there was something about him that delighted her because she seemed to enjoy his company and actively sought it.

Breakfast at Katniss' and Peeta's place turned out to be a regular practice for them. On most days, Katniss and Peeta would be there and he couldn't help but think of them as some sort of dysfunctional family. He would even gladly accept it but the fact that they were all something that he created kept nagging at the back of his mind.

The same happened with their morning walk. After two weeks of this, the sight of Haymitch and Effie strolling passed the shops with an argument on their lips and an insult to boot became a normal occurrence.

There was never a boring moment with her. Effie was infuriating and obnoxious, and had no problems speaking her mind. She would never take him insulting her clothes or heels lying down and would give a retort as good as she got. She had brought up his alcoholism, his reclusiveness and took pride in the fact that _she_ was slowly breaking away at it.

"Don't think too highly of yourself, sweetheart," he snorted.

"Before I came around, you hardly leave your house! I know for a fact that this is true," she stood her ground. "Making runs to Ripper to stock up on your liquor hardly counts. But look at you now."

"Maybe I'll stay home tomorrow and you can take your morning walk by yourself."

He would, he swore. He would sleep in and he wouldn't be there for breakfast. He even planned on not opening his door if she came knocking.

"Don't be so sour," she grinned and looped her arms around his. She was a tactile person and must have done this often with others but _this_ was not normal for him. "It doesn't suit you."

He cleared his throat but she didn't seem to notice his discomfort so he glanced around to see if anyone was paying them any attention because it was not often that he could be seen walking down the street with a beautiful woman on his arm.

That morning, she changed her course and veered towards the fountain in the middle of the square. Haymitch grumbled loudly but when she smiled over her shoulder at him, he begrudgingly went after her.

She toed off her heels and perched herself at the edge of the fountain.

"You do know Katniss has spare boots, yeah?" he told her again just in case she missed it the first time he said it.

She wriggled her toes to relax the aching muscles.

"Fashion always has a price," she mused. "Nothing I'm not used to."

"It's impractical," he said simply and left it at that.

If she refused to change the way she dressed, then he wasn't going to waste his breath on it. Besides, she was her own person and he liked that about her.

XxX

"Haymitch!" Effie trilled excitedly that morning.

In his daze, he was vaguely aware of his front door opening after a few knocks and then he saw her figure looming over him.

"What?" Haymitch grumbled in irritation. "I ain't late."

"No, you're not," she grinned down at him. "I've taken the liberty to bring breakfast to you instead."

Pushing himself up to make some space on the sofa, Haymitch looked at her suspiciously.

"You must want something from me."

Effie laughed good-naturedly but when he did not even crack a smile, she placed the plate of Danish pastries on the coffee table and sat gingerly next to him.

"Well," she licked her lips, an act Haymitch find to be entirely too distracting. "I've called someone... to assist in cleaning up your front yard."

"What?"

"It's just a gardener. He will be here to mow your lawn and do the necessary trimmings," she explained quickly.

"You don't ... You don't get someone to mow another man's lawn," he scowled.

She seemed genuinely confused by that before her expression changed to match his equally irritable one. "It does not look like you will be doing it anytime soon. Besides, shouldn't you be thankful for it. That's one less thing for you to worry about."

"I wasn't worried about it in the first place," he retorted. "You're so fucking meddlesome!"

"I will have you know that it is such a sight to walk passed your house and see it in such a _mess._ It is not aesthetically pleasing to the village as a whole. How do you expect me to be able to convince anyone to move in? One look in the direction of your house and - "

"They aren't moving in _here_ in my damn house, are they?" he raised his voice and moved away from the sofa but before grabbing a cream cheese pastry in the process.

When he returned to his living room clutching a fresh bottle of whiskey, Effie was still there, looking around. It occurred to him then that this was the first time she was here in his house.

"Don't," he warned when he saw the way her gaze flickered at the two dirty plates he had chucked at the mantle above the fireplace.

"Are you still up for our daily walk?"

He scrunched his nose.

"Go on your own," he said because he was irritated with her. She couldn't just make decisions for him without talking to him about it. "Make some friends. No need to cling to me."

"People here seemed to think I'm odd," she pouted.

"You are," he muttered under his breath.

She tried her best to convince him but he adamantly refused to change his mind just to spite her. She was working on some brochures and helping with information on a webpage to advertise this place. The daily walks had been instrumental to her work. Still, she needed more information on existing amenities in this town. In the end, she declared with an indignant huff that _he_ was wasting _her_ time and left him alone.

The smirk was firmly in place as he watched her leave his house. He leaned back on the sofa and took a bite from his pastry, feeling extremely smug about himself. It took him a while before his brain processed what she had said and then he jumped out of his seat.

"Shit," he cursed. He tossed his half-eaten breakfast back on the place and dashed towards the front door, grabbing his boots and keys. "Not the fucking library, Trinket."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of hayffie interaction in this which I hope you like. Tell me what you think of this chapter and what's in the library! Give me some reviews :)


	7. Who We Could Be

** Chapter 7 - Who We Could Be **

Haymitch was used to having Katniss and Peeta walking in and out of his house but he made it clear to them that his study room was off limits. Having any of them entering the room would be akin to opening a Pandora box and he couldn’t have that so the room was always locked.

He kept his notes of them and his published novel safe in the study room but he had completely overlooked the library and that was the last place he needed Effie to visit.

Haymitch sincerely doubt that she was interested in any of the books there and that her sole purpose would be to survey the place to include it in the brochure she was making of the town to promote the Village but still, having her in the library would be a risk. A copy or two of The Plague was bound to be there even if the thought no one read it anymore. It was a risk he was not willing to take.

As he went after her, Haymitch made a mental note to check all the copies of the book out. He should have thought of that in the first place.

Annie had a penchant of going to the library to get books for little Finn, and she was already a fan of his children books. It was dangerous.

The familiar sight of loose flowing honey blonde hair and blue dress made him hurried his pace. He caught up with her in front of the shoe shop.

“The library’s boring,” he declared, breathing loudly to catch his breath as he slowed down to a walk next to her.

“Is that so?” she raised an eyebrow. “That’s rich coming from someone who _loves_ to read.”

“You’ve come to that conclusion because….?”

It made her stop walking with a slow exhale of her breath as she gave him an exasperated side-glance. She rummaged through her bag for her purse, retrieved a note and handed it to the young girl minding the small store in exchange for pack of chocolate.

Haymitch had long noticed that she had a sweet tooth.

“I just came from your house, did I not? I saw an entire wall filled with books,” she informed him.

“Right,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “The – uh – the library ain’t… I don’t have good memories of that place.”

“I did not know that and I’m sorry that your memories of it are less than stellar,” she told him sincerely, “but _I_ want to have a look. I am not asking you to come with me. Besides, you were the one who said that you wanted to stay home. Why are you here?”

“To tell you _not_ to go to the library,” he admitted. “I’ve been there numerous times. I grew up in this town so I know the library like the back of my hand. It hasn’t changed much so I can tell you whatever you need to know ‘bout it from memory.”

Effie handed him the chocolate bar with a quiet amusement playing on her face. Breaking off a piece, Haymitch glanced her way and waited.

“You are rather passionate in hating the library,” she mused. “Do you want to tell me why?”

“I don’t hate the library,” he rolled his eyes. “I just – It’s a reminder… of what I failed.”

Her brows knitted together in confusion.

“What do you mean? Is it your… job? What is it that you do exactly?” she asked and he winced at the barrage of questions. “We’ve never talked about this and all this while that I know you, you are always around. Does this have anything to do with the library?”

The grimace must be apparent on his face because Effie touched his arm in an apologetic gesture.

“I write,” Haymitch confessed as they stood by the sidewalk leading to the town’s square.

There was no point hiding it anyway. Annie and Finnick were perfectly aware of that fact having read most of the books he wrote for children. Truth be told, he was still surprised that they had not come across The Plague _yet_ but it would only be a matter of time if he did not take steps to have that book removed. The novel told the story of the fall of the rebellion and made no mention of Finnick’s and Annie’s family but it was still the world where they came from which means there would be a probability that they _might_ come across something familiar in relation to their past.

“You’re a writer?” she exclaimed. “How exciting! Have you published numerous books? What are you working on now?

“Uh, a novel – no title yet,” he said which wasn’t exactly a lie. “I’m trying to get it published.”

He carefully avoided any mention of The Plague that was published years before because unlike the Odairs, the Trinket family was actually featured in that first novel.

Ever since he wrote her to life, it made him wonder if she knew that _her_ grandparents had financed the rebels during the Dark Days and if that family history was passed down to her. Only a select few knew that fact, of course, but it would be vital information that he would have revealed to the likes of Katniss, Peeta and Finnick in the sequel. If he ever wrote it, that is.

 _Unless…_ She was existing in a separate plane which was what he had thought before but dismissed it as an insane theory.

"I do not understand, Haymitch,” she frowned. “If you are a writer as you claimed to be, then why are you so adverse to the library?”

“The only books I’ve got published are children’s literature. We’ve all got to start somewhere, yeah? But I’ve been stuck there for _years_ and I can’t … I can’t get anything new for a different target audience,” he said.

Again, that was not exactly a lie. He was having the worst writer’s block and he was not getting anywhere at the moment. It frustrated him to no end.

“I wrote those children’s stuff for my brother when I was a young man. My teacher noticed it, helped me get it out to a publisher. I’ve got those books in there in the library but I want something _more_ , you know?”

“I understand, Haymitch,” she nodded. “Perhaps, you are just putting too much pressure on yourself. Inspiration, I believe, comes during the most unexpected of time, you will see. Sometimes… during a shower,” her eyes glinted.

He laughed. “You just want me to take a shower.”

With a grin, Effie looped an arm around his. “Let’s go for a walk - how about the meadow?”

 _Anything than the library,_ he thought.

“You have a family?” he asked, partly due to his curiosity from earlier.

“Yes, of course,” she smiled good-naturedly. “Parents – Lysandra and Stefan Trinket -” she informed him and he nodded because Stefan Trinket existed as a young man in The Plague, “and two older siblings; a brother and sister. My nephew is a little older than Finn.”

“No grandparents?”

She shot him a curious look.

“Oh, no,” she said, staring straight ahead. “They passed.”

They rounded the bend and Effie smiled charmingly at Greasy Sae as they passed by her modest eatery.

“Do you…” Haymitch started and paused, and when her attention was back on him again, he said, “Do you believe in alternate universes? An alternate reality?”

“Is this the writer in you talking?” she teased.

Haymitch shrugged. He needed an explanation _for himself_ more than anything. The characters he wrote were not meant for this world and yet, they were adjusting in it just fine as if they belonged here.

“It’s an interesting concept is all,” he muttered. “Characters that exist in a different universe yet despite that difference still somehow meet each other and their… their fate,” he grappled for that word, “usually follows a certain pattern…”

He stopped and then shook his head.

“I ain’t drunk or anything,” he said defensively, “but I’m not makin’ sense to you, yeah?”

“It does not sound appealing,” she told him gently. “I would like to think that in an alternate reality, my life might turn out to be immeasurably different! Perhaps… My dreams came true and I am now a famous model. If there is another me out there somewhere with that career, then… I envy her very much right now,” she pouted.

“Yeah,” he nodded, perking up a little. “Think about it… In _that_ world, even as someone famous, you might have met Katniss and Peeta or… Finnick and his family. No matter where you go, these people will still be there.”

“So will you,” she pointed out. “Maybe you are not a writer, maybe you are someone else.”

“Maybe,” he indulged her. “That’ll be nice not to struggle to write the next story – just some regular person with a family,” he added the last part quietly.


	8. The Plot

** Chapter 8 **

Every knock his hammer made resonated loudly in the empty room. Effie stood dutifully next to the A-ladder, handing him nails as he asked for it. The shelving was almost done after half a day of working on it.

He glanced down as he plucked a nail from her outstretched hand. She was staring at him or rather, she had been staring at him with a spark of hunger in her eyes which he was sure had nothing to do with actually being food-deprived. He noticed the way her gaze had trailed over him when he folded his sleeves up to his elbow and the way it lingered on his ass as he perched on that ladder.

It was disconcerting to have that sort of attention on _him._

With the final nail in place, he tested the shelf to see it would hold and climbed down from the ladder.

Peeta was outside the shop, supervising the installation of the signage for his bakery.

"Alright," he declared. "It's done. I'm off. You coming or staying?"

"Let me check if the children need me for anything else."

Truth be told, they had not needed her at all on that particular day but she had wanted to be useful and floated around helping where she could. A dusty half-renovated bakery did not really suit her image but she wanted to be present so they let her.

Haymitch leaned against the fence, drinking from his flask as he waited for her. When she finally emerged from the back of the bakery with a wave towards Katniss, he stood up and promised Peeta that he would be back tomorrow.

The walk home was relatively peaceful. The long walk from Town back to the Village used to be a chore to him but now, he was used to having her with him. She made it bearable by filling the journey with mindless chatters and news about little Finn's latest accomplishment – he managed to write his own name – of which she was very proud.

"Do you remember what I said about inspiration a few days ago?"

"If this is you trying to tell me that I need a shower then save it. I _know_ I need a shower after all that work at the bakery. Want to join, sweetheart?"

He meant to tease but she looked him squarely in the eyes and a sly smile dancing on her lips.

"Do not make invitations you are not willing to see through, Haymitch," she patted his arm. "About looking for inspiration... I was going to suggest looking to the people around you. You never know if you can get a burst of ideas from there."

"You mean _you?_ " Haymitch raised an eyebrow.

"I do not see why not," Effie replied with a grin. "I do not know how your writing process is but if you must, I can be your inspiration. You could... I am not sure truly but perhaps, you can write a character based on me or... or other people in this town. Oh! This town you live in can even be the setting."

Haymitch scoffed and looked away. There was something inherently wrong with her request to write a character based on her, a character in itself.

"I can see it already, Haymitch," her eyes sparkled with excitement. She turned around towards the direction where they came from. "A romance in a small countryside town. Maybe I met a man..." she suggested, "and fell in love with him. Well, not me. I mean character me, the woman you - "

"I don't write romance," he cut her off.

"It wouldn't hurt to try. You'll never know if you might have a knack for it," she insisted as a means of encouragement. "Or if a mystery is more your cup of tea, a dash of mystery in the romance will add spice to it."

"Murder mystery," he countered.

"With romance," she added.

Haymitch rolled his eyes. "It'll be short-lived."

"You are terrible," Effie chuckled. She stopped as they reached the fountain in the middle of the village. “I shall see you tomorrow.”

“It’s still early, yeah?”

She dangled a pair of keys in front of him.

“I’m going to that house – over at the end of the village,” she explained. “I have to ensure that it is in proper condition for a viewing tomorrow. There is a couple coming in. Would you… If you have nothing planned for tonight, would you like to come along?”

When did he ever have anything planned? The way things were, he would likely ended up sprawled on his sofa with a drink and if he felt up to the task, he might work on his novel but he did not feel like spending his night alone, so with a shrug, he followed her.

His decision was something she was pleased with because a wide smile spread across her face.

The house was fully furnished which was the same when he bought his house. When she emerged from the kitchen, she handed him a towel together with a spray bottle.

“Just help me with that bay window. It has to look spotless. Only that, I promised,” she added when she saw that he was about to argue.

She, on the other hand, went around dusting the house. They worked quietly together but he was quite aware of her moving around by listening to the soft footsteps to tell exactly where she was.

“She’s someone famous and well-known where she came from,” he began as he sprayed one corner of the window. “One day, she decided to drop by this remote, quiet town to view a house.”

“Is this about what we talked about earlier?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, rubbing on a particularly difficult spot. “Drawing inspiration from people I know.”

She stopped dusting to look at him.

“Is it based on me?”

“You told me you want to be famous, yeah?”

Her eyes widened in surprise that he remembered that fact. Effie dropped the feather duster on the cabinet to move closer to where he was and perched on the arm rest where she indulged his tales.

“She came here to get away from it all. The _years_ of fame had taken its toll…”

"Oh, years, is it?" Haymitch teased.

"Years,” she affirmed in all seriousness. “It can be quite exhausting, Haymitch, to be hounded day in and day out by paparazzi."

He shot her an amused glance.

“Or maybe…she’s here to get in character,” Haymitch suggested. “Method acting, you know?”

“An actress? How marvellous! I like that very much. How would you write it then?”

The last pink glow from the sun had faded and darkness had begun to descend upon the town. Haymitch abandoned his task to look for a light switch and when he turned it on, Effie had moved from the arm chair to the foot of the stairs. She gestured upwards, her intention clear. They had to check on the second floor before the potential buyers arrive in the morning.

“She’ll stay at a house, far away from the main town. She’ll need some place quiet to practice her craft, yeah? It’s an important project – the movie of the year, maybe?” he began plotting. He was talking faster than normal, the blood rushing in his veins as the excitement of having a story in his head began to wash over him. “So she – uh – she signed a lease for a couple of months and it worked well, she was diligent in memorising her script.”

“Then she met a man.”

He stopped at the top of the stairs landing, a hand on the bannister. Effie glanced behind her shoulders when she sensed that he wasn’t following.

“I was going for a horror story of how you get mauled by wild boars and after a few weeks, Hollywood came to know of your terrible, unexpected demise when a jogger stumbled on your mangled body.”

“Haymitch!” she gasped. “You promised me romance, too.”

“Fine,” he exhaled, “if you’re contributing to this story then, alright, we can go with her meeting some man.”

“A writer,” Effie grinned.

It made him pause. His skin prickled. Haymitch rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling.

She was standing by the door to the master bedroom, watching him.

“A writer… He – He saw the script she had and he – “ He grappled for the words as he fought to keep the uneasy feeling at bay. “He thinks the script is shit.”

"How about…” Effie stepped closer to him, so close that he could smell the shampoo on her, “meeting a writer who is alone, brash and impatient, sometimes even rude but with a good heart. He’s everything that she is not.”

He had to look away. It sounded… He wasn’t sure if they were talking about the characters in his story anymore.

“Sounds corny,” he mumbled.

"She is smitten, I believe,” Effie went on. “There is something rough about him, something that attracted her to him."

His breath hitched and the words left him. All he could do was to stare at her. She held his gaze and waited for him to continue his part. Leaning against the door frame, he said, “Turns out, he was only after her fame and her name.”

"Oh, but that is heart breaking,” she exclaimed, a hand on her chest. “What about true love?”

“What about it?” he raised an eyebrow.

“I supposed fair is fair, you did say horror and having a heart broken is a tragedy. But you won’t break my heart will you, Haymitch?”

That question took him off-guard. He startled badly which meant his reaction was likely quite apparent to her because she seemed uncomfortable as well. The heat rose in her cheeks but she stood her ground, tilted her chin up, silently demanding an answer.

"You're not... We’re not the… I'm not the writer in that - "

Whatever he meant to say was silenced by the kiss she pressed to his lips. Her fingers curled on the collar of his shirt and she tugged him forward. The sweet taste from her lips exploded in his mouth and he wanted – _crave_ _d -_ more. He leaned in further, chasing her lips, the softest thing he ever felt but paradoxically, she was also insistent. He was soon eagerly returning her kisses, forgetting all the reasons why he was there in the first place.

Somehow, they blindly managed to stumble into the master room and he promptly kicked the door close. Effie fell onto the bed, pulling him down with her.

 

 


	9. The Novel

** The Novel **

Time slowed and in that moment, there was only them in that room, blindly exploring each other; eager to touch and eager to please.

The passion was exhilarating. Haymitch had never felt so alive as he was in this moment with her. When she dug her nails into the flesh of his shoulder, he hissed in pleasure, thrusting deeper into her as he drew satisfaction from her soft moans and burying his fact into the crook of her neck.

The instance his skin touched hers, he had felt such raw intensity and it showed in every kiss, every caress and every move. Even in bed, Effie was just like herself. She was loud and did not hold back. From the moment the first moan had escaped her lips when he let his tongue have a taste of her, she had been vocal; sighing in delight, whimpering with need, breathing his name into his ear.

It drove him mad.

So he made sure she was mad with need just as well. He fucked her only to stop and watched her body writhe and he would start again, this time harder, until at one point, she was begging for him to finish.

That was his undoing, to have her completely at his mercy so when she rocked her hips against his, clutching on to him dearly, he came apart.

He rolled off her and lay on his back, his breathing coming out in ragged puffs. Haymitch licked his lips, the taste of her still lingered and he thought to himself that he would never get bored of this.

Her fingers crept across the small space on the bed between them to hold his hand only to have him retract his hand back. Effie pulled back, a little uncertain that she had crossed some unspeakable boundaries but when he drew her into his arms to let her snuggled into him, she tossed him a soft smile.

There something about their sweaty skin pressing against each other as they held on close to one another that made him drift off to sleep.

Morning came and brought with it a sudden maddening rush once Effie realised that she had a mere half an hour before the time for the viewing. Haymitch said nothing even when she ushered him out of the house.

The short walk from there to his house was filled with a rising panic that he had just slept with Effie Trinket, a character _he_ wrote.

 _A walk of shame,_ he thought bemused as he glanced behind his shoulder to see Effie by the bay window making last minute preparations.

Settling down in his kitchen, he made himself coffee which was laced generously with liquor. He tried to push down the recurrent memories of the night before – the smell of her skin, the taste of her lips and the sound of her voice when she came apart under his touch – only to fail miserably. She was all he could think about and he sat there trying to convince himself that there was nothing wrong with the situation.

It was a losing battle so in a bid to distract himself, he trudged to his study. Sitting down on the worn out chair, his fingers hovered over the keyboard and then he started typing.

The words flowed like it had not done for months. It came easily to him and he started building Panem up from the Dark Days. He had always been interested in the politics around the world so he weaved that into the story and created a dictator by the name of Coriolanus Snow and an empire which he ruled with fear and an iron fist. Drawing inspirations from Effie's advice, he began to picture what would happen if his world was ruled by this man and he wrote that in, too.

This was a far cry from the modern Hollywood romance Effie and him had plotted about the night before except for the star-crossed lovers' portion which would have to do, but it was still something. It was definitely a sequel to The Plague and by the time he realised it, Effie was standing at the doorway to his study. He glanced up to see her watching him with a fond smile.

"You're writing again," she observed. "Did you find your inspiration?"

Standing up, he came around to where Effie was and locked the door to the study behind him.

"Don't want to jinx it but guess I did," he said and gingerly rested a hand on her waist.

She took that as an invitation. Locking her arms around his neck, she kissed him deeply and whatever shame he felt earlier vanished. He pinned her against the wall.

"Dare I say it… _I_ gave you the inspiration you needed," she grinned, slipping her hand passed the waistband of his trousers.

He let his head fall against her shoulder as she worked him into a state and hours later, they were both in his bed, the sheets tangled around their naked body and their muscles aching in a good way.

Just as surprisingly as it began, he found himself slightly unsettled by the fact that somewhere along the way, Effie had moved in. She was spending her days in his house when she was not out at Peeta's bakery and the night in his bed. During the morning when she was not around, he locked himself in his study, writing away. In a way, it was almost domestic and he found himself not minding it as much as he thought it would.

The second novel was beginning to take shape. The characters he created including those that came alive were slowly being written into his story as he had intended them to be. He couldn't be more satisfied than he was right then.

He was in a good place and this was not something he would carelessly admit but he felt that way.

He was surrounded with people he came to love. They were real to him – the things they did and the path they paved for themselves here was all real – and he began to flip the entire scenario in his head. In his mind, he was _borrowing_ them as characters for his book. It was no different than JK Rowling loosely using her teacher as Severus Snape, he rationalised.

Wasn't that what Effie had wanted in the first place - for him to draw inspiration from the people around him to write his book?

He was wary at first that he might be rewriting their lives but even as Katniss volunteered in place for her sister in his book, the Katniss who lived next door to him seemed to remain the same.

Yes, he thought as he turned off the light in the study to joined Effie in bed that night, he was in a good place.

When the morning light spilled into the room, Haymitch stretched his hand to the side of the bed he had begun to think as belonging to Effie only to find it empty which in itself wasn't unusual.

He trudged down the stairs into the kitchen dressed in nothing but his sweatpants but when he saw Effie pacing the room looking mildly distressed, the sleepiness disappeared and he became alert in a second.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his gaze darting this way and that trying to locate the source of her anxiety.

At the sound of his voice, she raised her head.

"I can't leave," she moaned, sounding a little hysterical. "I tried to leave this town but I _can't_."

"What do you mean you can't?" Haymitch frowned. "What do you – hold on – why are you going to leave?"

An unsettling feeling washed over him. He knew the past weeks with her were too good to be true. He never could have a moment of peace and this was it – the other shoe was dropping. His stomach coiled as he braced himself for the worst.

"You're leaving me?" he narrowed his eyes. "You seeing someone else?"

"Haymitch," she ran a hand over her long locks, "I cannot for the life of me remember my life in the city. Is something wrong with me? How long have I been here?"

"I don't understand what you're saying, Effs."

"Are you not listening to me?" she snapped. "What is my life like in the city?"

"I – "

He faltered. They had never talked about it. He had never asked because everything he needed to know about her he already did but even so, the fact that she might have had a life in a different place before coming here had not even crossed his mind. His head was beginning to spin with questions. Could she even have a life in the city since when he wrote her into existence, she had immediately come to exist _here_ in this town?

"Exactly," she pursed her lips. "I remember nothing much. It is as if that period of my life did not exist."

Haymitch would have waved off this absurdity except it really wasn't. It was a possibility that her life there never did exist.

"I woke up this morning and I thought about my cat," she started. "I left my cat in my apartment. So naturally, I tried to picture my apartment but nothing comes to mind. I have a cat," she repeated. "She must be all alone. I saw a cat wandered into your backyard looking at your geese and… I have a cat."

"Effie…"

"Where do I stay before… before this? What is my address?"

"You don't have a cat," he insisted. "You _never_ had a cat."

"How would you know that?"

"Because I – What do you mean you can't leave?"

"I got in the car," she explained. "I wanted to make the drive to the city for my cat. I wanted to bring her here so I drove out. I reached the square only to realise that I cannot remember where I stay or how to get there, and – Haymitch," she looked up at him with bright pleading blue eyes, "I realised I do not remember much else. What is wrong with me? I need the doctor. I need a brain scan – I could have a tumour. I need to know."

Stepping forward, he grabbed both her arms. "There's nothing wrong with you."

"No," she denied. "We cannot be sure until I have a doctor look me over. You need to take this seriously, Haymitch."

"I am," he assured her.

Somehow, he was beginning to think that this fracture in her mind was because of him. After all, she was in his second novel together with Katniss, Peeta, Finnick and Annie. He never knew how he even brought them to life and who could really say what would happen now that he was using their characters to write them back?

Haymitch made a mental note to really talk to Peeta or Finnick just to see if they were showing any disparities as Effie.

"Do you remember when you asked me about alternate universes?"

His heart stopped at this sudden, unexpected question.

"Yeah," he answered cautiously.

"I have been having dreams lately… nightmares. I dreamt of prisons and…." She shuddered. "It was horrible."

A terrible feeling pierced through his heart.

"That never happened," he told her and he vowed to keep any pain from her character on the pages. "It's not going to happen."

Effie shot him an odd look.

"Why do you talk as if you know all there is to know about me?"

Haymitch stared hard at her and took a few steps back. He pinched the bridge of his nose, let his hand fall in dismay at his side as he breathed out. Effie did not belong in this world. Neither did the others and this domesticity he was fooling himself into was never meant for him or them.

"I don't remember how I met Katniss and Peeta," she informed him when he was quiet for too long.

When he answered, his voice was flat. "You were their agent."

"Yes, but I do not remember them walking into my office or meeting them for the first time. I asked Peeta and he couldn't remember it too."

"Oh, fuck," he breathed out.

It was happening to Peeta.

The discrepancies were starting to show. The plot holes were becoming glaring.

"You're not real," he admitted with his back turned to her. He couldn't look at her. It hurt too much. He wanted her to be real. He wanted them to be real. They were his. "You're not real, sweetheart."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some of you are saying that you don't know where i'm going with this but bear with me. We're nearly there.
> 
> Leave me a review. What do you think of how they fell into a domestic routine or how Effie will take this news?


	10. Your World, My World

Your World, My World

"I – There's no easy way to say this, sweetheart, but I don't know what you are," he looked down at his hands. "You started – I make characters come to life. Katniss and Peeta – they aren't real. Finnick and Annie aren't either. One day they were just there, you know? And I've got no explanation for it so I – I wrote you…. I wrote you and here you are."

He felt her staring at him and when he raised his head, the look on her face was indescribable. She was torn between trying to understand him and forcing herself to sit and not flee in horror at his apparent insanity but to her credit, she stayed.

"You are not making any sense."

Haymitch scoffed.

"You're not real, you understand? I wrote you. I know it sounds fuckin' insane but that's the best I've got, sweetheart. You're only here 'cause of me. And… We can't do this anymore," he gestured at the space between them and the regret tasted bitter on his tongue.

"Haymitch Abernathy," she snapped and in her eyes were all the fury of a woman one should learn not to cross. "If this is your way of ending things with me then it is in poor taste. Do not come up with such – such dramatic excuse just because you are bored of me. What I do not understand is," she frowned, "what has this got to do with my cat? Are you truly ending things with me because I wanted to leave town for my cat?"

"Effie," he let out a breath, paused and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was going horribly wrong. "You don't exist, you understand? Your cat doesn't exist. I ain't trying to break up with you. That's the last thing I want. I want you," he said, the admission making it passed his lips. "I want you more than I've ever wanted anything else in my life."

Her gaze softened and yet, she did not approach him, wary as she was.

"You are all that's good here but we can't do this, sweetheart," he stepped forward, bridging the gap between them.

A sad half smile sprung on his lips even as he cupped her cheek.

"I think – I think you're just something in my head," he said in a rush of breath because that had been his paramount fear. "I have to get out before it's too late."

Except, he tried to rationalise, Effie and the others had converse with people in this town. They couldn't possibly be in his head alone.

"Haymitch," she began in a frighteningly calm voice. Effie framed his face between her hands and forced him to look at her. "Are you ill? How many bottles have you had to drink today?"

"Lesser than before you came around," he spat, a little annoyed that she was chalking this up to his alcoholism.

All these time, he had stopped trying to find an explanation for their presence and had come to accept them as being a part of his life. It felt right even if some part of him knew that something was inherently wrong but now... Well, now he was forced to confront the truth that they were not like him. He was trying to make her understand it even though a part of him felt as if it was being torn apart.

Haymitch closed his fingers around her wrists to bring her hands down to her sides.

"I'm not drunk. I wish I am right now but that ain't the case. I'm – This has been going on too long. Effie," he breathed out, "You need to know and I think something's wrong with me," his gaze flitted to her and he wondered if she could see the fear and the doubt plain as day. "Do you think I'm crazy? Because I think I am. I don't want to be locked up at some psychiatric facility but you're right here and it's insane. It's fucking insane, Effie."

"Haymitch…"

He owed Effie the truth. He owed her an explanation for her 'loss' of memory of her life in the city and her past. Everyone has a past except for her, in this world.

Without waiting for her to finish, he grabbed her hand and tugged it forward, leaving her with no choice but to follow his lead. When they reached the study, Effie pulled her hand free, tossing him a confused look.

"I'm not allowed here. You made that explicitly clear."

"Yeah, cause I was trying to hid it from you. I can't risk you or the kids finding out," he explained, "but you need to see this. It's time."

The room was dark despite how bright it was outside. The curtains had been pulled shut as if to close it off from the rest of the world. To the left of his typewriter was a piled of papers, sheets upon sheets of the second novel he was working on. It was nearly done and he would have it on the desk of an editor in a few weeks' time, at most.

Haymitch brought her to a wall and she stood in front of it, her eyes tracking the numerous papers filled with his scribbles that were tacked on it.

"That's just the tip of the ice berg," he told her. "I have more."

Her fingers gently traced a yellow post-it note with Katniss' name on the wall. Then she moved on to Finnick.

"Who is Lief?"

"My brother," Haymitch answered. "I created Finnick based on him."

"You created…."

Haymitch showed her the papers with the full character profiles – details on Katniss and Peeta – and the brief short story he had written about most of these characters including her.

Effie gasped when she came upon her own paper. Her eyes widened in surprised.

"I've never – How did you know all these?" she demanded. "I have never told you my sister's name or anything else about my family. I've never talked about my nephew."

"You don't have to. I know them anyway because I wrote it. It didn't start that way, sweetheart, but as I was writing my second novel, I expanded your character along with the others."

"Stop it," she screeched. "Stop referring to me as a character. That's not what I am."

"You exist because of me. This is your past that I wrote."

"No," she shook her head ferociously, refusing to believe it. "What you are saying is impossible."

If he thought her mind was fractured before, then what he was doing was breaking her apart. He pulled her into his arms, a poor attempt at trying to hold together the pieces that made her who she is.

"You never had a cat, sweetheart," he whispered. "You're allergic to them. Something ain't right with you and I think it's my fault. I think the plot holes when you exist here is too much and – I don't know, alright? I can't explain it 'cause I don't myself but this isn't real."

She ripped herself from his arms and hit his chest hard.

"Stop it, Haymitch," she snarled angrily. "What we have is real. I love you," she said, her eyes flashing and he wanted to tear his hair out.

That was the first time he heard it and this wasn't how he wanted it to be. It wasn't fair, he wanted to shout. It wasn't fair that he had a woman who loved him and who he cared about a great deal only for this to be the way it was.

"I love you," she repeated, "and that is real. Whatever else you believe in, you have to believe in that too."

She was afraid, he could tell. He was never good at giving comfort and even if he was, right now, he had no words of comfort to offer her. His own fear was threatening to consume him.

"Then what are these?" he asked tiredly, waving his hand at the papers and the wall. "What are these things, Effie?"

"I … I want an answer for this as much as you," she told him quietly.

Effie walked around the room, taking in every piece of information and came to a stop in front of a shelf he had covered with a piece of cloth. When she pulled the cloth down, it was to see three piles of books lying down on the shelf; books he had checked out from the library and bought from the town's bookstore so Effie and the others would never stumble on it.

He held his breath as she took The Plague in her hands and began browsing it. She stopped at a page, bringing the book closer to read it and when she looked up, it was with her mouth agape.

"These are my grandparents," she breathed out.

"Yeah," Haymitch affirmed.

"This Rebellion…. I've heard of it," she frowned. "I feel... I feel as if someone has told me about this before... in another life."

He turned his head so fast towards her.

"You've heard of it?"

"Yes," she nodded slowly. "I remember it like a distant memory. My mother… She wouldn't talk about it when I ask."

"That makes sense," he ran an agitated hand in his hair. "That is your world, Effie. Not this. This one's never yours. And I think – I think when I wrote you in my second novel, it's affecting you as you are now. Logically, you would never have a memory of being taught the First Rebellion. I mean.. it was only recently that I wrote you but I – I weaved your storyline into that world. That backdrop becomes part of your past now. It enriches you as a character – gives you depth."

She looked at her hands then and turned it this way and that as if for the first time, she was starting to believe what he said. The Plague must have affected her in a way that his initial convincing could not. She was starting to make sense of the details and it was not something he could lie about, especially about her grandparents.

"Sweetheart," he grabbed her hands. "I know this is scaring the livin' shit out of you. I'm going to – "

She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Language."

"- fix it."

And in that moment, he truly believed it. He dug this hole. He could get them all out. Haymitch shook her shoulder a little when she remained silent.

"Effie, I'll fix it."

"I would not advise it. I do not think you can or should tamper further, for that matter."

Her gaze was fixed at something or rather, someone, outside of the window. From where they were standing in the study, Haymitch caught sight of Finnick running towards Peeta's house with Annie lagging behind him, looking just as distraught.

"I have not seen Finn's name in any of your characters. You have not written him yet, have you? He is not part of your sequel novel, is he, Haymitch?" she asked.

"He isn't. At least not yet."

"He's gone. Finn's gone," Effie pointed out. "Finnick and Annie would never leave him alone. They lost him because he is not part of the narrative in your story as yet."

Haymitch could hear their raised voices through his window and Annie's cries. Finnick was decidedly torn between trying to comfort her and pleading with Peeta to send a search party.

"What will happen to me if I stay?"

It was a rhetorical question at best. None of them had the answer to that question. It would be a gamble.

"If I do not belong here," Effie took a shuddering breath, "then neither do they. Their life is unhinging itself. Did you write Peeta having a bakery or Finnick setting up a seafood store here? Did you write me as an estate agent?"

There was almost an accusatory tone in her voice.

"No," Haymitch answered truthfully. "When Katniss and Peeta came, they paved their own way. Just as Finnick and Annie did. I imagined you as a model, sweetheart. You surprised me when you came here as Katniss' and Peeta's agent."

"You have no control over us here," she said in realisation. "Which means... You can't fix us here."

"Prim!"

They glanced at each other and as one, they moved towards the window. Katniss seemed disoriented and lost.

"Peeta," she approached him. "Where's Prim?"

Detaching himself from Finnick's grip, he turned his attention towards Katniss, the concern etched on his face.

"Are you alright, Katniss? What is – Why are you asking about Prim? She's … She hasn't been with us for a while. You know that. That's why we moved here. What's - " he glanced at the Odairs and then at Katniss, trying to figure out this sudden unexplainable change.

"I can undo this, Effie," he turned to face her. "That book I'm nearly done writing doesn't have to exist."

Haymitch grabbed the stack of papers next to the typewriter, fully intending of tossing them in the fire but a quick decisive movement from Effie stopped him in his track.

"You cannot do this, Haymitch. I do not know a life other than the one you have brought me to but I have a family somewhere in a world that is not here. So do they," Effie gestured in the direction of Peeta's house. "Katniss' sister is still alive. Peeta still has a family. Finnick and Annie will not remember this tragedy of losing their son. Babies do not just disappear, Haymitch. It is unnatural, as unnatural as... As me being a mere character," she forced the words out.

"You're not," he rushed to placate her despite his claims earlier. "You're more than that to me and the kids."

"You were the one to tell me that this is not real," she pointed out. "Will I remain stuck in this town forever? Neither of us knows that. You hardly know how any of this works. Are you intending to write Finnick's son and hope that he too comes to life? What if what happened to me does not happen to Finn? What about Katniss? You cannot bring Prim back into this world. She is dead in this world, is she not? Even if you manage to, it will be difficult for Katniss to wrap her head around it, too. Everything here is wrong. I see it now. You need to see it, too."

"I can't lose you. Sweetheart, please."

Haymitch hated how vulnerable and pathetic he sounded but that was the truth and he was desperate to hold on to her just a little bit longer, selfish as it was. He had nothing else to lose except her and if he had to beg, he would.

"I've lost too much."

"Stop this," Effie insisted and then her voice softened. "There is only one way for you to fix this and I think you know how. Remember this, please. What we have between us... You did it, Haymitch. You wrote your story - something you have been struggling to for years - and you are nearly at its end."

"I shouldn't have," he sighed, his shoulder sagging with the weight of what he did. Finally admitting it out loud, he said, "None of you can exist here and there without some part of you going into... dissonance."

"Big word," she tried to put on a smile. "Did you learn it while researching for your book?"

Haymitch brushed his thumb across her cheek, his gesture almost tender. He took the sight of her in, trying to commit her face to his memory. Then he kissed her like they had a thousand times before but this one tasted bittersweet.

"Isn't it peculiar that we are in this very story you are writing?"

"What are you driving at?"

"Maybe… Maybe we are meant to be your inspiration, something for you to write with. Maybe it's time for you return us back to where we belong. Write us back, Haymitch, so this will stop. Each time I try to think of my past I meet a brick wall. Finnick and Annie do not deserve that loss of a child. That pain… It's too unbearable for them. Tell me honestly, do they belong here?"

He took a long while to answer but from the first day it happened, he already knew the answer to her question. "No," he leaned his head against the window frame. "I'll lose you."

"So will I," she told him quietly and stepped into his embrace. She held tight to him. "I will miss you dearly, Haymitch. But I know you and I do not think you will be able to live with the guilt if you keep us. Will you truly be happy knowing that we might not be while we continue to be here?"

"Yeah," he said simply. She knew him better than he gave her credit for. "You're right."

"You had a life before us. You will survive this."

It was not much of a life but Haymitch held his tongue.

"What am I – Who am I in this world of yours?"

"Someone famous," he answered, carefully hiding the fact as an escort she would be part of something terrible.

He never thought it would affect her. He never thought what he wrote would have any consequences on the woman standing in front of him when she was already safe with him here.

"Who are we if not the stories we tell ourselves?" She lamented. "I did fall in love with a writer, after all."

"When did you get so smart?" Haymitch teased.

She smiled but it never reached her eyes.

"Promise me, Haymitch, that you will make it a good one. Make this the best novel you have ever written. Do not be upset. We are all just stories in the end and perhaps, in another universe, you and I will meet each other again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said ten chapters but after I finished writing it, this story deserves an epilogue so you will get one!
> 
> In the meantime, tell me what you think! Will Haymitch see through the ending of his novel? Will Effie and the others make it back?
> 
> a/n: We are all stories in the end is from Doctor Who.


	11. There, and back again

 

**Epilogue - There, and Back Again.**

They left as suddenly as they came.

Haymitch had no way to explain that 'phenomenon' either.

He had a feeling that it would happen the night before so after he had written the very last sentence to the Hunger Games, he said his goodbyes to Effie, the only self-aware individual among them, and she said hers.

He kissed her and made love to her. He held her as she fell asleep while trying to keep his own eyes open so he could watch her for as long as he could but that was a battle he lost eventually. Haymitch fell asleep with his nose buried in her hair and an arm slung across her torso.

When he woke up to find the house harrowingly empty, an indescribable feeling of loss consumed him. He fled to the kitchen for a bottle, his trusted crutch all those years. It was only much later that he ventured out to scour the village and saw exactly what he expected.

Katniss and Peeta were nowhere to be seen. He grasped the edge of the fountain, feeling his knees going weak. He couldn't will himself to make the walk to town because if Katniss and Peeta were not here then Finnick and Annie would be gone just as well.

It took him a full week before he mustered enough energy to leave the house and made the drive to meet his editor. He wondered then if the week spent wallowing in abject grief was evident on his expression. Trying to explain the reason behind it would be a hell of a story in itself.

"Took you long enough," Chaff remarked, his gaze drifting to the brown folder Haymitch was clutching in his hand.

Grunting under his breath, Haymitch dropped the manuscript of his desk.

"To tell you the truth, I wasn't expecting the sequel from you – thought you buried that idea altogether."

"Yeah, well…" Haymitch rubbed the back of his neck. "Have a read, you might like it."

For a long second there, Chaff studied him and Haymitch shifted under his gaze. "You okay, buddy?"

"Yeah," he gave a simple nod and left the office before there could be any further questions.

Chaff called three days later with a booming laugh reverberating through the phone receiver.

"I'm in it," he chortled. "What? Is that your way to compensate for makin' me wait too long?"

"Maybe," Haymitch smirked.

"I like where you're going with this," Chaff commented. "Hell, I even like my character. I'm assuming I got into all sort of trouble with this Cloyd guy, yeah? Twelve's mentor…"

That earned a chuckle from Haymitch because while that backstory did not make it to the main plot, he certainly envisioned it so when he wrote it.

"That could have been you, man," Chaff mentioned off-hand.

For a few weeks after dropping off the manuscript, Haymitch tried to get used once more to the oppressing sense of loneliness. With no novel to write and no one to distract him, it was inevitable that he picked up drinking again.

When Chaff called with an update that his manuscript was being sent for peer review and that he was interested in drafting a contract for the continuation of the series, Haymitch hung up the phone. He was not in the best of mood to be pressurised into writing something again so soon and with a deadline dangling in front of him to boot.

Ever since he left Chaff's office, something his friend said had been nagging at the back of his mind. It felt important except that Haymitch couldn't understand the significance of it or how it could help him at all.

At his wits' end, he decided to call Chaff and only then did it occur to him that the phone calls had stopped coming. Chaff had been ringing every once a week hoping to convince him into signing a contract but the fact that it had stopped for a while now seemed odd to him.

"Put me to Chaff," he said once someone answered his call on the third ring.

"I beg your – Mr. Abernathy?"

"Yeah, Julia, it's me," he affirmed. "Is Chaff there?"

"Chaff?" the receptionist repeated which only drew an irritable sigh from Haymitch. "You are being funny, aren't you?"

"What? I'm _not_. He went out for a drink or something?"

"Mr. Abernathy," Julia said impatiently, "I really am quite busy. Your manuscript is still being reviewed and I will definitely give you an update when there is one to give."

"Listen," Haymitch raised his voice a little. "Get me Chaff _now_."

"Why do you keep asking for Chaff? The only other person I know with that name is that character in your book. Stop messing around, Mr. Abernathy."

For a long time after Julia had hung up, Haymitch was still staring at the phone receiver, his ears buzzing from the conversation he just had.

_That could have been you, man._

_The only other person… character in your book…_

_Could have been you, man… Could have been you…_

"Oh, shit," his head snapped back as the realisation dawned on him.

Haymitch scrambled up the stairs to his study.

He stared at the extra copy of his novel and then to his typewriter, tilting his head contemplatively.

The truth was plain and simple. Chaff was gone, and he had a terrible suspicion of what just happened.

His oldest friend was nowhere to be found.

Which meant that Haymitch had no one left and nothing to lose.

Effie was in that world he created along with Katniss and Peeta. All the people he cared and had grown to care were not around leaving this an empty and desolate place for _him._ He knew he couldn't return to the life before them. He had tried for weeks and struggled.

There was a way for him to change this. He could change his own fate and his own story.

That very night, he painstakingly edited Cloyd out of the narrative.

Life was about taking risk except it would only be a risk if he actually had something to lose. With a frightening determination, his fingers flew across the keyboards, typing his name into the tale.

Haymitch Abernathy, the only surviving mentor of District Twelve.

XxX

When day light broke and fell across his face, he blinked awake. Stretching to loosen the crick that had developed overnight on his neck, he took in his surroundings. He had fallen asleep on his desk and he was sorely regretting it.

Haymitch glanced around, a crease between his brows. He was quite certain that he had fallen asleep on the desk in his study, not the kitchen where he woke up but he could be wrong. If the bottle on the table was anything to go by, he had been drinking.

It seemed that nothing had changed, he thought with disappointment. He was still in his house wearing the clothes he wore yesterday.

Haymitch sighed.

Perhaps it had not worked.

Stepping out of the house, Haymitch grabbed the bucket and his eyes went wild, darting here and there, looking for his geese that were clearly missing.

"Of course," he gasped. "I don't have any fucking geese. Cloyd didn't have any damn geese."

He could almost shout in jubilant if he was the sort but he didn't. Haymitch rounded the house and skidded to a stop when he saw a woman clad in dark purple blouse and matching skirt with a pastel purple wig tottering on her heels. She was making her way over.

"Effie," he whispered once he recognised who she was.

She walked closer and then shot him a startled look.

"Oh," she blinked and then she smiled that wonderful smile which convinced him he had made the right decision. "I was not expecting you to be up already. What a pleasant surprise!"

"Yeah," was all he could say because he was _still_ staring at her.

"Will it be foolish of me to hope that you will be up and ready for the Reaping as well next year _or_ is this a one-time miracle that I should be thankful to have?"

Her tone was teasing as she tugged on the collar of shirt before smoothing the creases. When she realised it was futile, she dropped her hands to her sides with a small pout.

"Effie..."

Her gaze flew to his face.

"Well, well," she beamed. "You finally did learn my name."

Haymitch blinked. She was acting as she didn't really _know_ him and perhaps she didn't. He paused to internalise this and played the entire conversation back in his head.

The dialogues they just exchanged were never in the book but the book was written in Katniss' point of view which meant that this conversation was entirely possible.

"What – which reaping is this?"

She shook her head at the oddity of his question and promptly turned on her heels. Haymitch followed since there was nothing else to do but that. Just before they reached the Justice Building, he stopped.

"We're going for the Hunger Games reaping, yeah?"

"Yes," she answered in a clipped tone, as if the Reaping was the last place she wanted to be. The change in demeanour was not lost on him. "What else could there be?"

Grabbing her arm, he spun her towards him.

"Sweetheart, it's me."

In that moment, Haymitch struggled to keep control of himself instead of crushing her into a hug or a kiss. He missed her. He _missed_ her and it was very apparent to him that she had no memories of what they used to share but he needed to try in case there was a memory that needed to be jogged.

"Yes, Haymitch, I am quite aware of who you are." She looked at him a little oddly and he let out a frustrated breath. "Do take your seat. It is time."

He tuned out everything else. He already knew it. He wrote it all; the Capitol propaganda, the tired, terrified faces of children standing in the square, the unbearable heat in Twelve and to the parents fidgeting with restless, anxious energy at the back. This was a dystopian, terrible world and he had written himself into it. One day he might regret it but right now, he couldn't take his eyes away from Effie Trinket, and she was all that mattered.

Without thinking of it, he stood up and enveloped her in a hug. She was stiff in his arms, nothing at all like how his Effie would have reacted and he knew right then that he couldn't just pick up where they left off.

When he released her, Effie patted and righted her wig, and if the look she sent his way was anything to go by, she was furious.

They would get where they were, he promised. She wasn't the Effie that he knew, not yet, but there were layers to her that needed to peel away to get to the person she was hiding underneath. She was not a puppet, he knew that, but right now, she was here and so was he.

They were existing in the same world again, together.

This might be her world and _his_ alternate universe but he remembered telling her about alternate universes once. No matter how the world was carved, the fate of the characters was bound to follow the same path and their path had just crossed _again._

He _knew_ how _this_ story would end the moment Effie called out Primrose' name. While he might not have written the sequel to the Hunger Games, he had a vague idea the direction they were all heading sooner or later. He could have had an easy, boring life as a writer but here, he would have a family; a dysfunctional, adopted family but still one nonetheless.

Right now, he was about to meet Katniss and Peeta.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I am perfectly aware this story is insane. It's over now but I still had fun writing it. As usual, please drop a review to share your thoughts. Were you guys expecting him to write himself in ?

**Author's Note:**

> So... WHAT DO YOU THINK! How is he going to deal with this knowledge? Or is he even going to accept it? Let me know in your reviews :


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